


Night Time

by UnfinishedProject



Category: Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Clubbing, Dancing, Drinking, F/M, First Dates, Flirting, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Oblivious Reader, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnfinishedProject/pseuds/UnfinishedProject
Summary: When your friend drags you to a local nightclub, you're not sure what to expect of the night. A few cocktails, dancing and some innocent flirting, perhaps.
Relationships: Daveed Diggs/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

It was a feat to walk around the club without spilling the drinks you were holding with bodies pushing from all directions. You weren't an expert on the venue, but it seemed like more people were packed into the smallish space than the average night — or, at least, that was what your friend told you upon your arrival. Regardless of the crowd, you somehow managed to edge around the dance floor to where you were closest to your friend; a few dancers still separating the two of you. 

"I gotcha drink!" You shouted over the music of the currently performing indie band, which, really, was more noise than music to you — you never heard of them or any of the bands playing that night to be honest. You even missed out on the first one completely by the time you arrived. Your gestures probably meant more than your words; something even you had trouble making out. 

You waited for them to disentangle from the crowd, dancing their way over to you — you had a suspicion that they might had a drink already before the two of you met up. You scampered to the bar area, scouting the place for somewhere to sit. Most booths were already occupied by more people than would be comfortable — piling onto each other's lap and where-have-you. You were about to give up and just find a place along the bar itself when you spotted a table in a corner with only one occupant. 

With a shrug that was an understanding between the two of you, you headed to the booth before someone else would take the seats. You were aware that it might've been reserved for the rest of his group but you'd never know if you didn't try. Due to the difficulties of the tight space, you reached the table ahead of your friend — flashing an awkward smile as dark eyes rose to meet yours. It was dark and you couldn't be sure but it seemed to be a deep shade of brown, something you'd definitely lose yourself in — if only you could keep eye contact for more than a few moments. You weren't shy by any means — though not as carefree as your friend, either — but you were way too sober to do something stupid. 

"Hey!" You offered, hoping your voice would cut through the music and the noise of people. "Are those free?" You poked at the empty seats of the booth while offering another of your smiles. Your friend caught up with you only now, having half of the drink already gone — though you didn't pay much attention to them, still waiting on an answer. You were given a light nod, a motion that said _'go ahead'_ — and the two of you slipped behind the table. 

You've been sandwiched between them; though with plenty of ample space, the awkwardness was more in your head than a physical constraint. Although you only danced to a song or two with your friend — you were an avid dancer other times if the music allowed — you were happy to have scored a place to sit. Your friend rocked out to the music, not much of a surprise how you've came to see one of their favourite, albeit obscure groups. The next song toned it down a little and, after taking a sip from your vivid cocktail, you could finally talk without yelling — with less of it, anyhow. 

"Remind me, why did I agree to come with you?" You've heard worst music than tonight's selection as far you knew but this style — dubstep, industrial, noise or maybe trip hop, you weren't sure — wasn't in your favourites; not even guilty pleasures. And, you didn't really need a reminder — you promised it for having their company at an academic fair earlier that month. "It's not exactly my scene." 

"Don't be so uptight. Relax and enjoy the music." You scoffed at their words, following their example of emptying out half your glass — maybe the alcohol was the key to finding the music good. The rest of the song was spent with silence between the two of you, concluding with your friend joining the crowd again to wiggle around with a random patron or two. 

"Hey." You've been preoccupied by thoughts of your ears ringing even after you left and a probable headache in the morning and didn't notice the original occupant of the booth sliding closer. While a few years ago your reaction would've been maintaining the same distance you shared before, now you turned to him with a hint of curiosity in your eyes. Though maybe it was only that he seemed like the better entertainment at the moment. "What's your crowd then?" 

You were more of a brunch type of person than the party kind — though you liked to think you weren't as stereotypically gossipy or snobby. You preferred a good book and a mountain of comfortable pillows over sweaty bodies — but every now and then, when your childhood friend came home from the city they studied at, you found yourself jamming out in one of the many clubs or pubs. 

"Something that's less of a crowd. Don't get me wrong," you hurried to add, "I like dancing. It's just kinda hard to _this_." You made a vague gesture towards the stage while shrugging at the same time; obviously the majority of people didn't share your sentiments or were too drunk to care. You've been awarded a chuckle at that; deep, low and genuine — not the kind that was a front only so he could get into your bed. You watched, with a delight that surprised even you, how the curly locks bounced around with the small shake of his head — though what surprised you maybe even more was the fact you wanted to run fingers through it. 

Your eyes quickly returned to your glass though, wondering if you should drink the rest, go ahead and then blame it on the drink or try to get through the night as sober you could without embarrassing yourself. You'd choose the first if your friend wasn't staying with you that night — not like you expected to get laid when making those arrangements, or now, but you didn't want to risk it. You turned back to him again, this time with your whole body and not just your head; tucking a leg against your chest as you rested against the backboard sideways. 

You were glad his eyes were closed, nodding his head to the music — you could study him without worrying you came across as creepy; or maybe this made you creepier but you didn't debate it long. The first thing you noticed was an infectious smile and soon you had one of your own in place. By now you knew that his eyes were dark brown, catching an almost amber like shade in the flashing lights sometimes. _Boy, was he handsome!_ Coming to that conclusion, you tried to feign disinterest by only watching his fingers drum out the beat against the table but soon your eyes were on another go of taking more of him in. 

You gave a silent prayer that your friend still wasn't back — you wanted to groan just at the thought of playing matchmaker for you. As far as you were concerned, he had a good taste when it came to clothes and you could marvel at his toned body in great enough detail — but if nothing else, his choice was more sensible than whatever you were wearing. It took you time to notice that one of those brown eyes you gushed to yourself about now peeked open, watching you in return with a curious tilt of his head. 

"Want to dance?" He was so casual about your staring when you blushed even from so little, averting eyes in a hurry — it left you panicking for a moment. You wanted the earth to swallow you in your embarrassment for being caught and he was inviting you to dance — which wouldn't be more than wriggling and grinding against each other in what seemed like a glorified attempt of imitating sex. You could feel the lazy gaze of those browns still lingering on you, waiting for a response. _Why not? Maybe you even get lucky and the crowd separates you — no more embarrassment, no awkward excuses needed._

"Yeah. I'd love to." You gave in finally despite your earlier claim that it was hard to. Climbing out of the booth after him, you tried not to think about what you've just gotten yourself into and just how close his body would be to yours. Sure, you would've loved to feel out those biceps and chest you've got peeks of, but things were happening way faster than you liked. 

Only a couple of steps onto the dance floor and there were only inches between your bodies. You tried not to think — or overthink — and just let the music move your body, hips rocking to the beat of the song. You had your back to him, inhibitions lost as your heart raced with the increase of tempo — you've been running on alcohol and adrenaline at that point. There were hands on your hips, pulling you more tightly against his chest and, as if to illustrate the lyrics about getting down and dirty, you ground back against him. There was a soft hum on your lips as his arms crossed against your stomach, keeping you in his hold as you danced the song away. Your head came to rest against his shoulder and his locks tickled your exposed forearm as you reached behind you in a vain attempt of wrapping around him. You've got to hear another chuckle, almost vibrating against your skin with how close his lips were — and you tried your best not to imagine them pressing against your neck, warm and soft yet with passion and- _no, you have to stop right here._ Your arms eventually settled over his, your fingers lacing as the song shifted into a slower one. 

"I love the way you move." He was too close, whispering into your ear and you felt a chill down your spine. You, too, loved the way he moved; like your bodies were one but still casual, lacking that aggressive sexuality that was present all around you in others' dancing. If you weren't impressed by him already, you certainly were now. You gave voice to your enjoyment only to be interrupted by the singer that their gig was almost over and it was time for the last performer of the night. You heard a sigh from where his lips were still so close to your ears, at a complete loss of what to make of it — it wasn't like the night would be over already. 

"Look, babe," he started, digging his phone out of his pocket as you turned around, "I'd love to dance with you all night but I gotta go." 

You understood and tried not to let your disappointment show on your face — you weren't entitled to his time, nor did he owe you any more dances than what you've already gotten. Sure, it stung more with that _'babe'_ in the sentence instead of something neutral but it was all the difference you needed to type in your real number when he handed you his phone — you didn't expect much to come of it anyway. Other than a couple of texts, you've never gotten further with anyone you met up in a club or pub; and even that was optimistic. 

You were surprised by the kiss against your cheek and before you could react in any way, he was cutting through the throng of people — leaving you without as much as his name. You stayed for a moment longer, trying to spot your friend among the dancers — heading to the bar once the impossible task failed. Barely off the dance floor, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. The text only consisted of two emojis of dancing people, signed simply as _**Daveed**_. It was a nice name, something you found fitting his energy. 

You put in your order of soda with the bartender before shooting back a quick text of _**Thanks for the fun time.**_ You cradled the phone in your lap in case of more texts — though you didn't want to seem over eager, you knew your curiosity wouldn't let you be until reading them. With your back to most of the club, you were startled by a hand coming to rest on your back — so much you almost slipped off the stool. 

"I've been looking for you all over the place!" Came your friend's accusation but your eyes were caught by the stage, watching as the new band set up. Shrugging it off as _'maybe he works here'_ at first, you turned back to your friend — who looked more like coming from making out with someone rather than looking for you. A hand waved in front of your face, dragging you from the daze — you've been staring blankly at your friend while fighting the urge to text him just _**what the fuck this means.**_

"I've been dancing." You offered after taking a sip from your drink; knowing that your friend would bug you for details; they always did. You tried to dodge most questions with a rather unenthusiastic _'good'_ or _'fun'_ but you didn't have much luck getting them change the topic. "With a dude. Why does it matter? I didn't come here to find a date." 

You were probably more annoyed by your friend than they deserved but it felt awkward to admit how you were ditched in the middle of a song for... whatever was happening. But they got the message finally, taking a seat by you and placing their order. You didn't speak for a while, emptying out your drinks and just watching the crowd; dancing to some commercial rap song now, put up as an interval of sorts. 

"Hey, you know anything about this last band?" You asked after another glance at the stage. It was after all your friend who chose the time and place for the two of you to go clubbing, so perhaps they were a little more prepared than you — you, who only just looked up the place and how to get there. 

"I checked them out. They seemed promising." So it wouldn't really be your taste, you came to the conclusion — there were many things you had the same taste in but music was one of the few exceptions. You could marvel at him though, if your assumptions were right — now that might have been the reason why he was so unfazed by your staring earlier. "If it turns out to be shit, we can ditch the place." 

You said a silent prayer that ditching would mean heading home — you weren't sure you could handle another club — and one for whatever was coming, to be enjoyable. Part of you wanted to stay the night, give him the support he deserved — as if it would mean anything; you hardly knew each other for an hour. They weren't even local, your friend added — you were from different worlds; and you weren't sure you could fit into his. 

You wanted to say something about giving them a chance but shut up after a _'hey'_ with a shake of your head — your gaze more curious than disdainful for the first time when looking at the stage. The music was grating a bit, you had to admit that; but you could probably listen to his voice any time. It was...you didn't have the right word for it — the whole song like a lover's soft calls in the morning over the beeping of an alarm clock. The lyrics didn't line up, telling a story that was hardly even romantic now that you paid more attention. 

Your friend seemed to share your opinion that it was enjoyable and the two of you slipped onto the dance floor around the end of their second song. It wasn't as fun dancing with them as it was with Daveed and the people around you were more annoying — or perhaps just more drunk. Your friend made a comment you didn't hear — or, rather, you didn't want to hear to avoid acknowledging what's been said. Time flew by as you danced away who knows how many songs before finding your way back to the bar with a slight pant and a sore throat. 

"Hey," they started once you both were a little more collected after what could be counted as a marathon dancing for you. "Isn't that the guy we sat with?" Their eyes narrowed while pointing at the stage and you shrugged — it was dark, how should you be able to tell. Not like you wanted to tell that you got way more familiar with those eyes and that body than you imagined when walking up to him. 

"Could be. He just up and left when your favourites finished." That was only a part truth you told, deciding it wasn't important how you danced together before that — you changed numbers but that was all. There were no plans for a date set and you felt like telling those details to your friend would somehow make it real — though keeping it a secret might've just been your way of not getting your hopess up. 

"Whatever you say." Their interest diminished as their drink was served and you breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't much after you finished your second soda that they wrapped up — and you were more than ready to head home when the DJ took over. In all fairness, you were ready to leave since the moment you entered the club save for those minutes of your body pressing against Daveed's of your own volition. It wasn't even that hard to convince your friend to leave — the pop-y songs that followed weren't much to their liking. 

It would be a lie to say you weren't hoping to run into him outside the club, but you knew the chances were small — with so many standing around and smoking, even worse. You glanced over your shoulder a couple times while waiting for your Uber to arrive, but all you could see were faces of people you didn't know. Your phone buzzed with a message — only to tell you the car pulling up to the curb was your ride. 

_**Yeah, it's been fun.**_ You had the screen hidden away from your friend as another message lit up your screen just a second after the car drove off. It was a little short, you lamented to yourself while the next message popped up — _**Pick things up where we left them?**_ You huffed out a breath, lips pulling into a frown as you mused over an answer. On one hand, you were tired and knew that it wouldn't ever be anything more than hooking up — sure, you weren't the type to _'fall in love'_ with just about anyone on first glance and it wouldn't be the first time you had a one night stand; but you'd rather just have memories of the fun parts and no awkwardness. But that other side of yours, that's been frustrated over being single for months now wanted to jump at the occasion, dignity be damned — though maybe that was just an aftereffect of your cocktail. It didn't help that you were on your way home already when he texted you and you had a guest; your friend wouldn't mind, you figured, but you'd feel guilty over it. 

_**What are you thinking off?**_ You could still turn him down if the answer wasn't something you liked — expecting a less than savory suggestion. The text was left on sent for a minute or two, just enough for your friend to try and peer at your screen. There was a suggestive wiggle of their eyebrows, something you countered with a light slap against their shoulder. You knew at that moment that whatever may happen, they would tease you for it forever. You forgot about the texting as you climbed out of the car and made the short trip to your apartment — small but yours. 

_**We could grab a coffee. Or if you know a decent place for brunch, that's cool, too.**_ The messages that waited for you read — the offer one of the last things you expected to see. It was something you had no qualms about doing given you had no crushing headaches the morning to come. And you just knew a place in the old town, somewhere you frequented enough to trust. 

_**Sure. I can pick you up at the hotel at...?**_ You hoped he'd text you both an address and time — there were enough hotels in the city that you couldn't just pick the right one on your own. Finally moving on from the entrance hall, you peered into the living room — your friend already splayed out on the open sofa, tapping away at their phone. "You'll be good on your own tomorrow?" 

It made you feel a little guilty to leave a guest while going on a date — it definitely was one — but you'd be chastised forever by them if you didn't take the chance; not to mention your own conscience. They looked up at you with a hum, nodding their head to your question without giving any real thought to what has been said — you knew them enough to know when they were distracted. You'll probably need to leave a not for them in the morning. "Yeah. You go and have fun." 

You were about to argue the point further, just to ease the guilt and make sure they really would be fine — they should be, they knew your flat well enough and you had enough food in the fridge — when your phone buzzed for the umpteenth time. The name of the hotel and a pleasant nine o'clock stretched across your screen, followed by something less formal that had your lips pull into a smile — he's been pulling out all the stops, didn't he? 

_**Good night and sweet dreams.** _


	2. Chapter 2

You woke up way before your alarm was set but at least it left you with plenty of time to get ready — so much that you could've even changed your outfit three times before settling on the perfect choice. Content with the reflection gazing back at you from the mirror, you set to write a note to your friend. You peeked in earlier and they were still sleeping and, given your last night, you wouldn't be surprised if they were still asleep when you returned home after your brunch. Date, you corrected yourself, feeling both excited and anxious at the notion. 

The past night, you managed to stay strong and not look him up on the net — you came to the conclusion it would only leave you a nervous mess if you knew just how well-known he was. And, you really didn't want to commit the ages old mistake of accidentally double tapping an Instagram post from some months or years ago. That also left you uncertain about what you might talk about but you tried to worry about that later — now you had to get to the hotel on time. 

Which wasn't too difficult given how you lived in the town from childhood and how you knew the route of every bus and every shortcut to take. Only the unpredictability of public transport could sabotage you but it seemed luck was on your side. Your fingers were tapping the back of your phone, anxious and checking the time every ten seconds or at least what felt so. You waited a little farther away along the street, not wanting to seem stalkerish — though you still got a few strange glances as guests coming and going passed by you. The thought that maybe you were set up crossed your mind and you almost considered leaving when he stepped through the entrance. 

"Hey." There was a moment of awkward silence between your greetings followed by a soft chuckle when you both leant in the same direction. This time, kisses on your cheek didn't surprise you — though it managed to set your heart aflutter and spread warmth throughout your body. It was a simple gesture, you had to remind yourself before seeing too much into it; probably the norm from where he is. 

"So, where are we going?" You were walking at a brisk pace towards the historic centre of the town, only slowing down at his question; and the arm wrapping around your waist. _Too quick_ , a voice squeaked in your mind but you ignored it — it was likely to end too quick, it would be delusional to think he'd stay just for you. Stealing glances at him, you explained with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm about your favourite cafe, and how it was one of your spots for inspiration. 

It was a short walk from the hotel and you were there before you knew it, drawing a few glances as the bell chimed above the door — but most patrons went back to their own coffees and meals just as quick. You breathed a sigh of relief that no one seemed to be wiser than you about who he actually was and you could enjoy your morning together without interruptions. 

"So, did I fail a test or something? Or passed it?" It wasn't until you swirled your drink that you felt comfortable asking the question. Your tone was light, turning the fact that he was a total stranger to you into a joke — seemed like the only appropriate way to go forward with. There seemed to be a momentary confusion in those browns you've been lost in the past five or ten minutes before a breath of laughter informed you otherwise. 

"There was no test. But it's kinda refreshing." While you never were part of the most popular of students at your university or high school, you were known and liked enough that people came to you with all sorts of requests and questions. And you could only imagine how much more strenuous it had to be when you had the looks to go with it. His reassurance was followed by a stretch of silence — a comfortable one that let you wonder if it would be in bad taste to sketch him. Probably; it seemed he was truly valuing this moment of anonymity. "I can't really go out like this back home." 

"Glad I can offer that much at least." There was one other thing you could think of, one that left you restless for some parts of the night but it wasn't a bridge you were willing to cross. A few kisses throughout the time you'd spend together sounded simple and sweet — but you weren't sure you could be trusted with _no attachments_ if anything more happened. Though it wasn't even a necessity for you, to have more than a cute date for it to be worth your time; just hanging out with him in that precariously tiny spot between friends and a couple was enough to boost your confidence. 

"Come on, now." A tingle shot down your spine as he swatted at your arm in obvious amazement. A simple gesture but it filled you with the sense of having known each other for a long while, easing the last few, lingering worries. You've been still careful with eating, reckoning that with your guarded table manners you could even pass off as royalty at some fancy soiree. "So, you've said something about inspiration? What's up with that?" 

You thought that the nervous rambling earlier about why you loved the place would mostly escape him, and, surprised by the interest taken in you, you neded a moment to gather yourself. Admitting to any creative outlets would surely lead to an inquiry into your work — you had some samples on your phone but you weren't sure about showing your work. It wasn't horrible — just a niche that seemed far from his world on a stage. 

"I'm studying fashion. Design, actually," you corrected yourself — what you've been coming up wasn't for the runaway. Interested in both literature and theatre but not having the talent for either, you settled for the only way you could pursue such a career — a backstage position that built on your artistic strengths. You've used the cafe and the patrons as models for various assignments; most times reimagining the casual clothes into something that would fit into a play. 

"That sounds dope." You've been half expecting the compliment to be followed up by that dreaded question of artists — only then realising that he was familiar to that and as such knew better. Now you understood better what he meant by _refreshing_. Although, part of you wanted to impress him with your talents, you were happy to let your conversation go off in another direction. 

When prompted with questions about your further interests and life in general, you were happy to divulge the answers — even if some came out more awkward than it sounded in your head. But, you've been treated to some of those breathtaking smiles and answers to your own questions. You were surprised by the honesty and humbleness, having your doubts the previous night that he would be no different from those up-and-coming artists who thought they would be the next big hit. It was your own misconception though, having met enough entitled people in the entertainment industry. 

"It's only fair, you've more or less seen where I grew up." There was a bit of back and forth between you about why you'd rather visit Oakland instead of San Francisco like most people who visited the area, and you felt the need to justify your choice beyond _just because_. Your smirk was matched by the shake of his head and a soft chuckle; _damn, you're going to miss that sound_. 

"I think it's less, actually." 

"Come on, then." You were already on your feet, holding your empty plate and cup, ready to place them on the return counter and head out to explore the city more. It wasn't long before you were walking down a street, holding hands as you pointed out some of the main attractions on your route. You earnt yourself more chuckles with stories about your own experiences sprinkled amongst the little facts about this building or that. "And that's where I had my first kiss. A horrible experience, I didn't even want to kiss for months after that!" 

The words found their way off your lips before you could realise what you've been saying. It wasn't exactly a secret amongst your friends but it maybe wasn't the most appealing fact you could share. Although you still weren't sure if it was due to your lack of experience or your partner's bad skills, you liked to think you've improved since. 

"So, here, right?" It almost felt natural how your body yielded under his touch, arms wrapping around his neck as his moved to hold you around the waist and cradle a cheek. The weather wasn't that warm but in that long moment before his lips touched against yours, you could feel the heat of the whole universe. You were pretty sure that whatever blush coated your cheeks before was now tenfold increased. "How about this one?" 

You were still reeling from the intensity, finding it hard to take a breath; let alone speak. It's been everything you wanted from a kiss — soft but with enough pressure to let you know it wasn't just a misplaced peck on your cheek, unhurried enough that you could have a taste but not be satisfied with only so little. It felt unfair, too; both of you aware that there were only so much to follow. Though if that was all you did in your remaining time, you wouldn't have much complaints, either. 

"Pretty much perfect." You barely breathed out the sentence before his lips were back on yours, more eager now — and for the first time in your life, you felt lightheaded that your knees buckled under you. The arm around you tucked you against his chest and the hand against your jawline tilted your head to the appropriate angle to keep the kiss from breaking. Better supported, you let your fingers sink into that glorious hair you've been fantasizing about since the previous evening; whimpering into the kiss. 

If it weren't for the honk of a passing car, you would've been standing there a lot longer, lost in each other. Your heartbeat raced and you could only suck in short breaths. You were dazed and, even if you no longer needed to, you clung to him for support and warmth — painfully aware that whatever short time you had was growing closer to its end. And even though the place would now remind you of much better kisses, it would held the memories of things that could never come to be. 

Unsure how to address the tangled mess that your thoughts were, you opted for silence and a tilt of your head to indicate leaving. His hand soon slipped back into yours and that was the only thing you needed to know that he understood you. It would've been delusional to think he was dealing with the same sort of guilt or uneasiness you were experiencing; but it felt nice not to be just discarded after _'rental time'_ And even though conversation picked up between you, it was hard to ignore the minutes ticking away. 

"Babe." You were almost back at the hotel when he pulled you aside, holding both of your hands. That single word that should've made you feel warm only filled you with dread — even if you've been expecting this moment from the very beginning. "I'd love to stay longer. I really do." 

If it's been any other person, you'd have a hard time believing him — but he sounded genuine. You could see reluctance in those brown eyes, mirroring some of your own feelings. The thought of kissing him then and there, cutting off whatever else he wanted to add crossed your mind — but you didn't want to complicate things even more. 

"Sure that would be nice." Your place wasn't big but it would've been enough. And the thought alone that you could be able to wake up to that disarming smile was making it hard to keep your resolve about that kiss. "But we both have our lives. Who knows, though, we might even meet again." 

There might've been a smile on your lips but the chance felt too small and too far away. You imagined he'd have a busy schedule that could neither fit in surprise visits nor a meaningful way of keeping in touch; a couple of texts you might exchange in the coming weeks hardly enough. You've been saved from further awkwardness by his phone ringing, pulling your hands from his and taking a step or two away — even without eavesdropping, figuring out it was probably a manager or band member concerned about where he was. 

"I'll have to go. But I enjoyed all this time with you." You've been wrapped into a hug from behind with a kiss pressed just below your ear — ending it almost as it started. You've walked him back to the entrance, saying your farewells again with the fickle promises of writing to each other. Not looking back as you left, you couldn't be sure — but somehow you had the feeling he was watching as you turned a corner, disappearing from his sight; and perhaps life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a little shorter and had bit of a sad ending I hues but I hope you still enjoyed it! I'll try to have the last part uploaded by the end of the month but I might face some setbacks.
> 
> Let me know what you loved or disliked. I personally feel the ending is perhaps a bit melodramatic but correct me if you feel otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

After the first weeks of good morning texts, a couple of selfies from wherever the tour took him and a few sketches you shared, the frequency of your texts started to wane; stopping altogether a month ago, around the time of you moving overseas. Now that you've been settled into a schedule — and flat that was probably even smaller than the one in your hometown — you kind of wanted to have that back in your life. 

Since then, you checked him out on socials and were aware that he was done with the tour — though he was still living right across the country from you. And even if you decided to text him, what could you write that wouldn't be awkward or creepy? Though the past few days were successful in taking your mind off of missing a routine that was hardly part of your life. The theatre that you were working for, and what prompted you to move, made you the lead costume designer for their newest show. 

It was a smaller theatre, off Broadway, but still more than what opportunities your once local places could offer. You've been proud of what you came up with and had the early designs approved by production; now all you lacked were the measurements. Sure, you could've had them mailed to you or left it for the costume shop but you weren't keen on sloppy work and preferred to do it yourself. Once you worked past your initial embarrassment of circling scantily clad actors with a measuring tape and a sketchbook, appointments went by quickly. 

It was your last meeting for the day and having gone through the motions enough times, you just waved them over to the folding screen to undress while you added some modifications to one of the sketches. You looked up when a soft, awkward cough snagged your attention — the breath catching in your throat as your eyes met with those bottomless browns. Maybe if you've been paying more attention to the actual cast list instead of relying on character names, your current astonishment would've been less. 

"Hey," was all you managed to squeeze out. His effortless charm, leaning onto the screen and offering you a warm smile, still had the same effects on you as it did back in your hometown. You were frozen into place, pencil still hovering midair — biting your lip as tension stretched in the silence of the room. Hearing your name called in that calm voice had you blink out of your daze slowly, shaking your head as you rose from the stool. 

"I didn't know we were on the same project." He wasn't alone with that, you mused to yourself, playing with the measuring tape between your fingers — though you figured he had more reason to be oblivious. Stopping a feet away, you were unsure how to proceed given the strange nature of your acquaintance-slash-relationship. You've had a history, albeit a short one, that would make it more than just a work relationship — you would've been inclined to label it as friendship if not for all that sexual tension between you in the past. 

"I can't say I mind it." Even less so after allowing yourself a glance below his shoulder line, something you were fighting to keep your gaze above. Landing this job and you moving to New York was something you'd love to share but that falling out of touch stopped you from it before. This wasn't exactly how you imagined it or your next meeting, though. "That we work on the same thing," you hurried to add when you realised how your previous statement came out. 

_Damn, you did miss that laugh._ It was the same old reaction to finding you amusing you've grown to love in those two days and sparse video calls. It made your heart flutter with a different sort of nervousness meeting new people during the day left you with, your lips felt dry all of a sudden and you weren't sure how long your legs could hold you up. Neither were you sure how fast things happened after that; the tape falling from your hand, arms wrapping around your waist and lips pressing against yours. 

"Daveed." It was a strange sound between a sigh and a moan as you clung to his shoulders, holding you up once more. Your eyes were closed from the moment his lips met yours and you tried not to think about just how little clothing separated you. The little voice in your head screamed _too quick_ once again as you were backed against your desk, pencils, sketches and whatnot knocked off in the heat of the moment. He was standing between your legs with fingers now splayed on your thigh and sunken into your hair — and you weren't sure how long it would've taken to find yourself in a similar state of undress. Not long, you figured, if it weren't for the knock on the door. 

"Guess we should get back to work?" Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, having narrowly dodged being caught in the middle of making out with one of the actors. And even though earlier you were adamant on keeping eye contact, your gaze shifted anywhere but — at least you had a convenient excuse of writing down the measurements. You've been fumbling even if you had all the experience, going through the very same motions during the day. 

Despite all that, it felt less awkward than the last time — maybe it was the chance for something more this time, something proper. You only allowed a fleeting thought for the possibility, keeping your expectations low — you were still just some tailor compared to a major cast member on the show; not to mention previous claims to fame. There was silence between you except for mumbling number to yourself and the odd request for different poses, yet it didn't make the air heavy. 

"Do you want to grab a drink or something?" You asked, sitting back onto your stool and checking over your notes. It was a casual offer, not something you would consider a date. You'd probably hit up a bar or a street food stall — you would've invited him back to your place if it was more than a cosy hole in the wall. As far you knew, rehearsals ended a good hour ago and only a handful of backstage professionals were around, including you. "I just need to hand these to Mike from Costumes and I'm done for the day." 

"I'd love to." His hand slipping into yours as you weaved through the theatre was almost natural and a small smile even spread on your lips. On your way, you chuckled about how the place felt like a labyrinth upon your respective first visits and you've been reminded just how much fun your first meeting was. "How about we go back to my place?" 

Even though alerts of danger flashed in your mind, you were quick to accept the suggestion — you had a lot to talk about and it seemed better than any bar the city could offer. You've been given another of those breathtaking smiles upon your agreement and you knew this was the right decision. 

* * *

You've been whisked away, walking down small streets and taking subways across the city to place you haven't been to before — truth be told, you haven't seen much more of New York than your usual route of commute allowed for. On your trip, you joked around, teasing each other about meaningless nothings — as if no time passed between your last meeting and now. You were pulled into his side on busy sidewalks or held tightly on the crowded subway; if you didn't know better, you'd think the two of you were already in a relationship. 

Cosied up on the couch with a glass of wine in your hand, there was little you could wish for. A hand was resting on your leg, at some point pulled over his knees. It was nice, coming close to your idea of a lazy evening — though it was hard to appreciate it in all its beauty with anxiety rising in you again. Setting your glass aside, you finally gathered your courage to ask the question that was on the tip of your tongue the whole evening. 

"So, are you staying long in New York or is this just a short gig?" You personally came to stay far beyond the runtime of the show however long that might be — two months or two years the same to you. But he had other avenues to pursue and if the production failed, he could easily be heading home or on another tour. Maybe it was selfish of you, but if you committed to a relationship, you'd want it to last — to have him around enough for it to feel as a real thing. You were also afraid of consequences of the relationship not working out but still seeing each other day by day at the theatre; there was just too much variable to make any decision easy. 

"Long enough if-" Fingers brushed across the back of your hand, finishing the sentence left hanging in the air — _so you weren't the only one hesitant_. Your fingers twined with his as your similarly unspoken answer, eyes meeting those browns before your lips met his. There was no hurry to the kiss, no desperate clinging to the other to keep the fleeting moment alive. 

You were breathless by the time you sat back against the pillows, peering up at him from under fluttering lashes — leaning into the warmth of his touch against your cheek. He was softer with you than any of your previous interaction would let you believe — and while you weren't sure you wouldn't regret the decision, you felt content in that moment. You nuzzled into his side, humming out quiet whimpers against his lips as they met with yours over and over again.


End file.
